


All that’s Best of Dark and Bright

by jncar



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark One Emma, Enchanted Forest AU, F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-05 21:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncar/pseuds/jncar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma grew up with her family in the Enchanted Forest, but found her way to the Darkness all the same. Killian was stuck in Neverland a few decades longer than he’d expected, but eventually he won his way out and prepared to face his old enemy—only to find that a new Dark One had taken the crocodile’s place. An Enchanted Forest AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m playing around with the Dark One mythology—exploring the degree to which the darkness controls its host vs. the free will of the host. I’ve also given Henry a different daddy, due to timeline stuff and the infeasibility of bringing Neal to the EF without the Dark Curse. And yes, I know I have a couple of wips out there that need finishing. But it’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to write fic that I needed to jumpstart myself with something new.

Emma always knows when Henry needs her, now. It’s like a stinging wasp at the back of her neck, urging to her move.

It’s one of the few benefits of her current condition. (Though, in moments of honesty, she has to admit that the natural fear most people feel in her presence can really come in handy.)

When the stinging starts mid-morning, while she sits in her stolen library, pouring over another book of arcane lore, she closes her eyes, pictures Henry, and imagines herself near him. These days that’s all it really takes.

When the pale gray smoke clears, she finds herself in the forest near the Dark Castle that she and Henry now call home. She knows the spot—up ahead a small river curves around a rocky outcropping and forms a deep pool that Henry favors for fishing. But she hears the deep voice of a grown man speaking—a voice she doesn’t recognize.

With a frown, she strides toward the riverbank.

Henry is fishing, just as she’d expected. A strange man is perched on a log next to him, and looks up as she approaches. There are no visible weapons, but Emma knows full well the man is likely armed. He wears a dusty brown travelling cloak over a black vest and pants. His hair and beard are dark, but when his eyes widen as she steps closer, she can see that they are the color of the mid-day summer sky. 

She ignores the natural appeal of his good looks and steps up protectively beside Henry. “Hey, kid. Who’s your new friend?”

The stranger arches his eyebrow. “This lovely lady must be your mother. You have a fine lad, here. He was just filling me in on the best route to the nearest town—and giving me a few fishing tips, as well.” As he talks, she notices that he wears a hook in place of his left hand.

Henry smiles and introduces the man as Killian Jones.

Jones begins to spin a story about being dissatisfied with his meager success as a bartender in his brother’s pub, and speaks of leaving home in search of greater fortune elsewhere.

Emma frowns, again. “You’re lying.”

She’s always had a knack for picking out lies, but with the acquisition of her latest powers that knack became foolproof. She always knows. Always.

She feels the now-familiar surge of spiteful violent urges rising in her chest. Her fingers tighten on Henry’s shoulder. “Tell me why you’re here now, or you’ll lose your other hand.”

*~*

Killian’s sources had warned him of the princess’s beauty—and of her protective nature in regards to her son. 

What he hadn’t expected was the way his first sight of her made his heart skip a beat, or how the visible demonstration of that protective nature stirred feelings of admiration and respect within him. The current darkening of her eyes and the appearance of a sudden gray tone to her skin does nothing to diminish those first impressions.

It does make him wonder if the crocodile’s outward aesthetic had been a conscious choice—or if, perhaps, there is something inside of this woman that keeps the darkness at bay.

Now seems like an appropriate moment to voice the truth, before that inner darkness gets any stronger.

“I came to see the Dark One. And it appears I’ve found her,” he confesses, and then hastily adds, “Don’t worry—I mean the lad no harm, nor you, either, for that matter.”

He’s gratified when her skin returns to its creamy glow and her eyes once again shine in their enchanting green. “He’s telling the truth,” she says softly, and Killian isn’t certain whether the statement is intended to reassure _him_ , or the boy.

“If you don’t mean us any harm, you must be here looking for a deal,” she continues, the corners of her mouth turning down in disapproval. “That was my predecessor’s game. I don’t play that way—though it doesn’t stop people like you from trying.”

“Why did you lie, Killian?” says Henry.

The look of betrayal on the lads face stings far worse than Killian would have expected after just a quarter hour of conversation. Damn it—he _likes_ the boy. And, in spite of the short duration and uneasy quality of their meeting, he already likes the mum, too.

Killian had been trying to form a clear objective for this visit for weeks now, aside from the obvious, _“To gawk at the woman who succeeded where he had failed.”_ Even now, he still has no clear reason in his mind to prolong the encounter. Trying to extend things will likely only provoke a very powerful potential enemy. Gods know he needs no more of those than he already has. (Though one fewer now, than last time he checked, thanks to this rebellious princess.) Still—he doesn’t want this meeting to end. Not yet, and certainly not on this note.

If the princess can discern truth from lies with as much certainty as she implies, then truth seems the only reasonable course of action.

“I apologize for my deceptions, Henry—Your Highness,” he says, bowing his head meekly. “Lies are a very old, very bad habit of mine. I fall back on them when other courses of action might be more prudent. I meant no offense.”

He watches as Henry glances up at his mother, and she offers a subtle nod. A confirmation of his continued truthfulness, he assumes, so he plunges onward, putting on an air of habitual bravado as he introduces himself more fully, waving his artificial appendage in the air as he proclaims his moniker. (Habits—whether lies or bravado—are very nearly all he has left. His purpose and direction vanished without his knowledge more than a year ago while he was still trapped in Neverland—damn that demon, Pan.) He finds himself rambling—confessing his longtime quest for vengeance (Henry’s eyebrows shoot up when he gives his true age) and then thanking the princess profusely for ridding the world of his nemesis. He doesn’t know why he talks so much, except he has an unexpected desire for this mother and her son to understand him. And, just for a moment, when he mentions the death of his love, she looks as if she does.

When, at last, he finishes, the princess folds her arms with a bemused look on her face. “You’re not really grateful that I killed him. You wanted to do it yourself.”

It’s hard not to smile. Perhaps she does understand. “True,” he confesses simply. “I did.”

She narrows her eyes and tilts her head. “Are you angry that I beat you to it?”

He was, at first. He raged and drank for days when he first heard the news. But now? “No.” He shakes his head. “A part of me feels I ought to be, but I’m not. I just feel…” He hesitates, glancing at the boy. He can’t be older than twelve. How much of this does he understand? Enough, Killian decides. Boys his age catch on fast—and he seems like a smart lad. Killian gazes back at the mother. “I feel empty.”

The princess’s face flickers through more emotions than Killian can name before settling into something he hopes is sympathy. She nods. “I know what you mean.”

She holds his gaze for a long time, and he feels his heart skip another beat. He hasn’t felt so drawn to anyone in a very, very long time. But why would a woman like her even look twice at a broken, lost man like himself?

It seems to be as much a surprise to her as it is to him when, instead of sending him on his way, she invites him to stay for lunch.

Where this path might lead, Killian has not the faintest idea. But he has every intention of following it. He accepts the invitation.

*~*

Even setting aside the rather striking good looks, Hook positively oozes charm. Emma was determined not to like him, even after he started telling the truth, but by the end of their lunch she finds herself smiling and happily agreeing to let him teach Henry a thing or two with some practice swords.

Emma leans against the castle wall in the courtyard and watches Hook correct Henry’s stance and grip before the two begin dancing around each other, clashing the dull training weapons together, with Hook calling out instructions the whole time. The man clearly knows what he’s doing.

Melinda saunters up beside Emma, and wipes her hands on her apron. “That is one delicious specimen of a man, if I do say so myself.”

Emma laughs. “Don’t let Thomas catch you talking like that.”

Melinda and Thomas were Henry’s longtime foster parents, and they were the only servants loyal enough—and trusting enough—to follow Emma and Henry into their self-imposed exile. She’s glad for their presence every single day. She didn’t know much about being a mother when she came to take Henry with her. In fact, Melinda’s been like a mother to them both, since they all moved to the Dark Castle together.

Melinda huffs a low laugh. “Thomas would agree with me.” She glances up at Emma. “So what to do you mean to do with the man? He seems in no hurry to leave.”

“I don’t know,” Emma confesses. She saw the bleak look in Hook’s eyes when he confessed how empty he feels. It’s the same look she saw in the mirror many, many times during the more than ten years that she consented to live apart from Henry. 

The man is lost and lonely.

Does she really have room in her life to take in a stray pirate? Probably not. But Henry really seems to like him…

Hook stays on for dinner, and afterward it’s too late to send him off to the nearest village for the night—especially when she has a large and mostly-empty castle on her hands. It seems only right to invite him to stay the night.

After getting Henry to bed, Emma joins Hook in her sitting room for a nightcap. She can’t help but smile when he requests a shot of rum. It’s not her usual drink, but for tonight she decides to join him.

“I can’t help but wonder,” he says, as she hands him his drink, “why you moved into the abode of your old enemy.” It’s not exactly a question. He’s giving her room to avoid a direct answer. But somehow he’s got her in a talkative mood.

“It was mostly for the library,” she admits, though she’s not quite ready to explain why, and before he can ask, she follows up with, “That, and it was long overdue for me to be moving out of my parents’ castle.” Plus, they weren’t exactly eager for the Dark One to take up residence under their roof. But he doesn’t need to know everything.

He nods. “That I can agree with. Living with your parents might be a suitable fate for an old maid, but it hardly seems fitting for widow with a child.”

Emma squeezes her lips together. If he’s the kind of man she thinks he is, he already knows full well that Henry is illegitimate. What the hell. Why not tell the truth? It’s not like he has any room to judge. “I never married Henry’s father,” she says softly.

Hook holds her gaze and nods slightly. “But the lack of vows exchanged between you didn’t make losing him hurt any less, did it?”

A hard knot rises in her throat and she can feel the darkness churning inside her—like a wraith howling in hunger, begging for her to consume all those who wronged her—all those who led her lover to his death.

She closes her eyes and grips the table beside her, consciously fighting down the dark urges until they settle into a mild rumble in the pit of her belly. She draws in a slow breath and opens her eyes again.

“I apologize, princess,” he says quickly. “I spoke out of turn.” 

She glances down and notices the grayish, scaly look of her hand, and wills her skin to return to its normal human tone before she looks back up at him. Is he disgusted? Or frightened? Those are the usual reactions when folk see the darkness rise to the surface.

But he looks calm and collected—perhaps even a tad sympathetic. 

Emma’s eyes widen in wonder. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. People aren’t supposed to sympathize with her. They aren’t supposed to _like_ her. She’s the Dark One.

“It’s alright,” she says. “I just haven’t spoken of him in a very long time. But… you’re right. He may as well have been my husband. It felt like losing half my heart, when he died. But no one’s ever—“ She looks away and shakes her head, suddenly understanding why this strange pirate can see what no else ever has. “The same thing happened to you, didn’t it?” She meets his eyes again.

That broken, empty look is back. This is the real man—Killian, without his mask of the brave “Captain Hook.”

“Aye,” he says softly. “You were fortunate to have the lad to live for. All I had was my hope of revenge—and you can see all the good _that’s_ done me.” The bitterness in his voice and the self-loathing in his expression are unmistakable.

Emma’s not sure what might have happened to her if she hadn’t had Henry to keep her going. Might she have ended up as alone and jaded as the man in front of her? The chances are high she would have. And what does he have left now, when not even his revenge is left for him?

She has a suspicion, but she’s not going to bring up that dark path now—not when he already looks so bleak.

“What was her name?” she asks instead, trying to draw him back out.

His lips twitch up into a surprised smile. “Milah. Her name was Milah. And yours? What was his name?”

“Roland,” she says with a sigh. It’s been so long since she’s spoken that name. It feels like setting down a weight to say it again.

Hook raises his cup. “To Roland and Milah. May they never be forgotten.”

Emma raises her cup in return, and manages to smile through the ache in her chest. “To Roland and Milah.”

They both drink quickly, and she savors the burn in her throat.

What a strange world it is she lives in, when she can have more in common with a pirate she’s known for a day than with the parents who raised her.

She studies his face. Would it be so bad, to have another friend in this world? She’s been shutting everyone out for over a year now.

But Hook—Killian—isn’t afraid of her. He doesn’t want anything of her. Perhaps it’s time to let someone in.

“Henry’s growing up fast,” she says. “Too fast. And he won’t be content to stay home with his mother for much longer. He’ll want to go out and see the world. And he needs to know how to take care of himself—how to protect himself. He could use another teacher—someone who can teach him in ways I can’t.”

Hook arches an eyebrow. “Are you making a proposition, princess?”

Of course. He’s a man of the world—she can’t expect him to stay here out of gallantry. She crosses her arms and stares him down. “I wouldn’t expect you to work for free. I have money to pay. It might be an interesting change of pace, to earn your living instead of stealing it.”

Hook smiles. “Aye. That it might be. My crew isn’t set to rendezvous with me until the next full moon, in any case. That’s another three weeks. I suppose I could stay for a time and we could see how things go. I’d expect free room and board, of course. And one gold crown a day.”

“You’re out of mind,” she replies indignantly. No teacher is worth a full gold coin every single day. “I may not spin deals like old Rumplestiltskin did, but I know how to make a bargain. Ten coppers a day is more than fair.”

“The natural risks of living in close quarters with the Dark One has to be factored in, love. How do I know you won’t murder me in my sleep? Two silvers a day.” He taunts her with his eyes in a way that stirs up heat all through her core. Arrogant bastard.

“If I murder you,” she says, stepping closer, until they stand with barely a foot separating them, “it’ll be when you’re wide awake, and fully aware of exactly who it is that’s about to end you. Have no doubt of that. One silver a day, and that’s my final offer.”

“Done,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “Shall we drink to it?” He holds out his glass and wags it a little.

Emma rolls her eyes but she can’t help but smile. She pours them both another shot of rum, and they down their drinks to seal the deal.

Henry’s been lonely and restless lately, and Emma can’t wait to see the look on his face when she tells him the news—Hook will be staying on indefinitely.

*~*

Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not really letting any Dark Swan spoilers influence this. I’m just doing my own take on it. Hope you like it. Thanks for reading. And I forgot to mention in the first chapter - the title is derived from the Byron poem, "She Walks in Beauty."

Emma’s eyes follow the drop of sweat that rolls down the side of Hook’s face, trails down his neck, and vanishes behind the deep v of his shirt—left open to expose far too much of his chest.

The hot summer sun beats down on the castle courtyard this afternoon as Hook teaches Henry some new attacks. He has Henry using a short cutlass, of the type favored by many sailors and pirates for close-quarters fighting. It’s hardly a blade her father would approve of, but Emma doesn’t mind—the weight and length are just right for a boy Henry’s size.

She watches how Henry handles himself while defending against a blow from Hook. It’s been just under a week of lessons, but he’s already improved by leaps and bounds. She’s proud of him.

Soon enough her eyes are drawn back to Hook—to the curve of his legs into a well-formed backside. To the strength of his arms, and the careful way he delivers his blows—just strong enough to test Henry’s skills, but without the force of a true attack. The way his face lights up in a grin when Henry successfully counters him. He looks like a different person when he smiles in true happiness—a person Emma wants to get to know better.

She shakes her head and looks away. Over the years in her parents’ castle she had plenty of fleeting infatuations with various soldiers, knights, and guards. But all those infatuations were short-lived things. This will be no different. Hook is only here for a few weeks, and then he’ll move on and she’ll forget about him.

She needs to forget about him. She has far more important concerns to occupy her mind.

*~*

Killian feels her eyes on him, again. At first he assumed she watched his training sessions with the lad so carefully because of maternal worry over the boy. But now he’s not so sure. There’s something in the way her eyes linger on his face and trace over the lines of his body that makes him wonder if she’s starting to feel as drawn to him as he is to her.

In the back of his mind he knows that it’s pure foolishness to indulge in any romantic feelings towards the Dark One. In the long run no good could possibly come of it.

But that doesn’t change the fact that for the first time in centuries, it’s no longer Milah’s face that he sees when he closes his eyes at night. Instead it’s a pair of flashing green eyes and a tumble of golden hair. 

The irony of his infatuation isn’t lost on him. 

When they finish their training for the day, the princess fusses over her son’s sunburn.

“You’re as red as a beet,” she murmurs, while Henry rolls his eyes and tries to sidle away. She glares at him. “Stand still and let me take care of this.”

With a sigh the boy holds still and the princess slowly waves her hand over Henry’s red face and neck. A subtle white glow, barely visible in the sunlight, emanates from her hand, and the redness of the boy’s skin recedes everywhere the glow touches it.

Killian watches in fascination, a smile lingering on his face at the sight of Emma’s motherly concern.

Once she’s finished with her ministrations, she glances at him and an almost-sheepish smile appears on her face. “What? Why are you staring like that?”

He’s not exactly sure what he’s staring like, but since he’s caught her eye yet again, he decides to make the most of it. He tucks his thumb under his belt buckle and ambles toward her, still smiling. “I’ve never seen magic like that before. Somehow I thought it all had to be big gestures and high drama. “

If her blush is any indication, his smile is having the desired effect.

She shrugs. “What would be the point of magic if it was only good for big things?”

“Fair point. It’s very admirable of you to have mastered such subtle uses of the skill since you acquired it. That’s quite an accomplishment for less than two years of work.”

Emma’s smile thins, and Henry speaks up. “Oh, mom’s had magic her whole life. Didn’t you know that?”

For once, Killian is taken aback. His sources failed to mention this important detail when he was gathering information.

“I was born with it,” Emma says diffidently, as if it’s nothing to marvel at. “Once it got to be too much of a nuisance my parents got the fairies to give me lessons.” She shakes her head, as if to evade the memories. “Anyway, Henry, let’s get inside. You need a bath before dinner.”

In spite of Henry’s protests she leads the boy inside and Killian is left to wonder why magic is such a sore topic.

Late, after the deep dark of night has descended over the castle, Killian lies awake in his bed pondering the situation he’s gotten himself into.

When he first came here he’d half expected never to see his ship again—not because he’d choose to abandon it, but because he’d be… rendered unable to return.

Such thoughts of oblivion have long since been banished from his mind. In fact, they vanished the first moment he laid eyes on Princess Emma. Even so, he feels no urgency to return to his old life, and he knows full well why.

Long, long ago—in another lifetime—he’d been smitten with Milah from their first meeting, and deeply in love with her within weeks.

Is history repeating itself? Does he want it to?

He rubs his face in frustration. His mind is too busy. There’s no way he’ll be able to fall asleep tonight.

He pulls his clothes and boots on and leaves him room. Perhaps a walk in the cool night air will clear his mind.

As he passes through the halls he sees a light coming from the open door of Emma’s sitting room. His heart leaps at the thought of a private moment with her, but he also doesn’t want to upset her by intruding on her privacy. He knows he’s taking a chance… but her door _is_ open.

He knocks lightly on the doorframe with his knuckles as he sticks his head inside. “Princess?”

There is no response. He steps all the way in.

Two oil lamps sit glowing on either side of the writing desk, and a pile of books covers the rest of the surface. Emma is nowhere to be seen.

Killian’s always enjoyed escaping into a good book, but he hasn’t laid eyes on the famed library of this castle yet. Curious, he paces toward the desk and looks down to study the book that still lies open there.

He narrows his eyes. This is no book of verse, nor is it a story of adventure or romance. The script is in an older style, but not older than him. The open pages are filled with commentary on dark magic, and, he sees as he reads further, how to overcome it.

“What are you doing here?”

He turns quickly (his reflexes are well-honed from centuries of living in near-constant danger) to see Emma standing in the doorway, three more books clutched against her chest. She steps out of the shadows of the hallway, and the lamps cast an eerie glow over her gray, mottled skin and deep black eyes.

_So the appearance of normality is a conscious choice_ , he notes mentally before he answers. “I couldn’t sleep, and thought I’d take some air. But when I saw the light, I thought I’d step in.”

Her mouth is a thin line, and her voice is cold. “You don’t have permission to be in my room, or to be reading my books.”

Killian senses this can escalate into something ugly if he doesn’t lighten the mood, so he puts on the smile that always works on lonely barmaids in need of companionship and saunters toward Emma. Nerves prickle up and down his spine at the sight of her looking so reptilian, but he tries to remember that she’s no more or less of a threat now than she is in the light of day, regardless of appearances.

“Well, princess,” he says, his tone light and flirtatious, “I’ve always been more of the sort to beg forgiveness than to ask permission.”

An almost-smile flickers across her face, and she closes the distance between them, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. “Is that what you’re doing, now?”

Her words—and her eyes—hold a note of challenge. A challenge he’s eager to accept.

“Forgive me?” he asks.

This time her smile is real, though she doesn’t show her teeth. Always so in control—every minute of every day, fighting to keep up appearances. It must be exhausting. 

“You’re forgiven,” she says, and holds his gaze as she glides past him toward the desk. “Now, I’d like to do my reading in private.”

“Of course.” He nods and steps toward the door. But he can’t help but wonder if there’s any way to get her to invite him to stay. He rocks on his feet and looks back at the desk, his eyes lighting on the books, and a sudden inspiration hitting him.

_She stayed here for the library_.

“You’re trying to find a way to cure it, aren’t you? The curse of the Dark One,” he says.

She doesn’t turn, but rests her palms on the desk in front of her, her whole frame tensing up. Her voice is harsh and rough when she replies. “The courtyard is the best place to take the air this time of night. I suggest you go there. _Now_. ”

Damn. He’s managed to upset her. But he’s right—he knows in his gut that he’s right.

“I could help you, if you like.” He knows she won’t like being pushed like this, but sometimes people need a little shove to get out of their ruts. He certainly needed one. “When I was a schoolboy—several lifetimes ago—I was quite the budding scholar. And I still enjoy reading when I get the chance. I’d be happy to—“

“ _Leave me_ ,” she barks, still not turning. “Close the door behind you.”

Killian sighs. He knows when to quit (most of the time). “As you wish, milady.” He pulls the door gently closed behind him and strides toward the courtyard.

His heart races in his chest. She wants her freedom from the darkness—and he’ll do what he can to help her, whether she wants it or not.

*~*

Emma is nervous as she walks to the dining room for breakfast. She won’t blame Hook if he decided to leave in the night after seeing her like that. 

Keeping up appearances all day long wears on her, so she always relaxes her control after Henry, Melinda, and Thomas are asleep. She doesn’t need much sleep herself, anymore, but letting go of her act of normalcy for a few hours every night can be very refreshing.

However, letting go of that control has its consequences. She could barely restrain her anger last night. She almost struck out at him.

She wonders if he knows how close he came to pushing her over the edge. If he does, he’ll have done the sensible thing to protect himself. He won’t be at breakfast. He’ll be long gone.

She can use her magic to sense who is in the castle, and where they are, but she hasn’t searched for him this morning. She doesn’t want to have her suspicions confirmed. He’ll be just like everyone else. He’ll be afraid. He’ll despise her. He’ll leave. (Not even her family dared to be around her after she changed—only Henry, and thanks to him Melinda and Thomas. At times she wonders if they’re really safe with her, but she can’t bear the thought of sending them away.)

She steps into the dining room, and her breath catches in her throat at what she sees.

Hook sits in his usual place beside Henry. They are both laughing at a shared joke while Thomas takes a large bite of sausage and Melinda putters around scooping food onto plates.

Hook’s eyes turn to her, and his humor-filled smile softens into something different. A smile of sympathy? Of invitation? Or (dare she hope) acceptance? 

“Good morning, milady,” he says, his tone gentle. “Did you sleep well?”

She finds her breath and walks to her seat. “Yes,” she lies. “Thank you.”

She settles into her place with an unexpected wave of relief washing over her.

_He didn’t leave_.

She won’t analyze what that might mean, or why his presence suddenly means so much to her. She’ll just let herself enjoy this small bit of happiness. 

*~*

A short while after Killian’s regular sparring session with Henry, Emma approaches him. Though he has so much he wants to say, he bites his tongue. He needs to let her take the lead.

She stands beside him, and together they stare out into the courtyard, looking at nothing in particular. The silence stretches, and he lets it. He needs her to know that he trusts her. That he’s ready to follow where she leads.

After a few moments she says, “You were right. Last night—you were right about my research.” She pauses. “Did you really mean it—when you offered to help me?” She doesn’t meet his eyes, and she sounds more timid than she ever has before.

He wants to touch her—to reach out and hold her hand. To show her she doesn’t need to be afraid to let him in. But he knows that’s the last thing he should do right now. He can’t push himself on her—not when she is only just beginning to open up. 

She may only ever want him for a friend. He needs to brace himself to accept that. (Gods, he’s falling hard and fast. But he’s never forced himself on a woman in his life, and he’s not about to start with this one. Conquest isn’t love—respect, on the other hand, is an essential component.)

“Aye. I did,” he says simply.

She nibbles her bottom lip and looks down at the flagstones. “Henry tries to help, but he was never taught true scholarship—nor were Thomas or Melinda.” She shakes her head. “My parents hired the best tutors in the realm for me and my brother, but I was never much of a scholar. Some help would be… nice.” At last she raises her head to meet his gaze, and he reads fear in her eyes. Fear that somehow he’ll reject her offer.

Who damaged her so much that she’s afraid a friend will back out of an offer he made less than a day ago? Damn them, whoever they are.

“Lovely,” he says, putting on a smile. “When can I start?”

Her soft answering smile is all the encouragement he needs. “I’ll show you the library after lunch,” she replies. “I’ve been going through every book one shelf at a time. Nothing too promising, yet, but there’s plenty more left.”

“Excellent,” he replies. “Nothing like the smell of old books to get the mind working, eh? I can’t wait.” And he means it. Anything he can do help Emma free herself from the curse in a less deadly way than the one she used on Rumplestiltskin.

“Thank you.” Her smile shines like the sun, and his heart jumps in his chest.

Hard and fast. Gods, there’s no stopping his fall, now.

*~*

Over the next two weeks Emma gets used to the new joviality and laughter over the dining table. Hook seems to bring out the best in all of them. He sweet-talks Melinda, chats about the daily travails of running an under-staffed estate with Thomas, spins enchanting tales for Henry, and with her… Well. Emma hasn’t had many friends since Henry was born, but she remembers what friendship was like when she was a girl. This is different but the same all at once. The way he dares to flirt and tease—the insights he discusses in a soft and serious voice over their studies in the library—the way he can make her laugh. This is friendship of the very best kind.

As the end of his third week at the castle draws to a close, she begins to dread the inevitable conversation—when will he mention returning to his ship? The full moon is less than a week away, now, and he needs time to travel.

He’ll be leaving soon, and that thought leaves a cold lump in her chest.

Her first true friend in years will be leaving.

One evening, five days before the full moon, as they sit at the dinner table and she watches Hook and Henry laughing, a darker impulse stirs inside of her.

_He belongs to her. He came to her, and he agreed to stay. He belongs to her, and she has every right to keep him here if she wants to._

She tries to push the thoughts away, but even after dinner—even after everyone has gone to bed but her—the thoughts keep returning.

_I don’t have to allow him to leave. I could make sure he has no reason to leave—a sudden gale near a rocky shore, and he’ll have no ship to return to. Or an enchantment of forgetting, and he won’t remember any commitment to return in the first place._

_He’s_ my _friend, and no one else can have him._

She paces the halls of the castle, her ire growing by the minute. Doesn’t he _want_ to stay? She can make him want to, but if he truly cares about her he should want to on his own. He should be ready to disavow his ship forever and pledge himself to her. He should be ready to bow down and worship her.

At this she stops herself and leans against the wall, resting her forehead against the cool stone.

She’s letting it win. She can’t let it win.

_But he belongs to me!_

She’s not strong enough to fight this on her own.

The dark thoughts continue to rage inside of her, but she fights to keep them down. When she passes Hook’s door she almost loses the battle. She stands, one hand on his doorknob, for who knows how many minutes, fighting with herself to let go.

The sound of a thunderclap outside finally breaks the spell. It’s as if the weather is echoing her tempestuous mood. 

She flees down the corridors to Henry’s room, and quickly lets herself inside.

He stirs at the sounds of the door and raises his head. “Mom?” His voice is sleepy, but eager.

Her voice shakes when she answers. “Hey, kid. I-I’m having a hard time tonight. C-can I—”

“Come on,” he says, his voice so full of trust and love that it brings tears to her eyes.

He pulls open his covers and gestures for her to join him.

With a sigh and a shudder she slides into bed beside her son and wraps her arms around him. His warmth fills her immediately. Already she feels stronger.

She’s had a handful of these bad nights since they moved into the castle. This isn’t the first time she’s turned to Henry for help. He knows what to do.

Henry, warm and solid in her arms, rubs the back of her hand with his thumb and lets her hold him close while the sound of rain and wind seeps through the window. Gradually her dark thoughts subside and the storm outside grows quiet. At last, not long before dawn, she falls asleep.

*~*

Emma and Henry are late to breakfast, and they both look tired when they arrive. Killian squeezes his lips together. 

Emma seemed a bit out of sorts last night, and he can’t help but wonder if the sudden thunderstorm after a day of clear blue skies might have had something to do with her mood. 

He doesn’t pry, but he offers his sunniest smile in an attempt to cheer her.

Her answering smile is strained. Has she grown weary of him?

His heart aches at the thought. But if his presence here hurts rather than helps, he’ll do what he must. He can’t be selfish with his feelings.

After Emma finishes her food he clears his throat. “Milady, young lord,” he says, addressing both her and Henry equally. “You might have noticed that it’s nearly the day I promised to meet my ship.”

Emma looks down at the table and every line of her face is tight and strained.

Henry’s reaction is bolder. “Already? But I’m just starting to get the hang of using my sword. And you still haven’t taught me to navigate by the stars like you promised. Mom—can he stay longer? Please?”

Killian holds his breath when Emma raises her head. She meets his gaze with a question in her eyes. Does she want him to stay?

He decides to test the waters. “The lad has a fair point. There’s a good bit I can still teach him, if you like.”

Emma’s face is stiff and unreadable. “Can your crew manage without you for another month?” she asks, and his hope swells.

“They can fare alright on their own a bit longer, I think. I can send a message on for them to come back again in another moon, if you’ll have me on a while longer.” He holds his breath again, waiting for her answer.

Slowly she nods. “Yes. I think we’d like that. Same pay as now.”

“Same pay,” he agrees. “I think we have a bargain, milady.”

“Yay!” cries Henry. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Killian. This’ll be great!”

Killian smiles, first at Henry, and then at Emma. His heart swells when she smiles back.

“I’m happy to stay, lad,” replies Killian, though his eyes linger on Emma.

“I’m happy, too,” she replies.

In that moment, looking at her soft smile, he knows that if she asks him to stay forever, he’ll never leave.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still not letting any Dark Swan spoilers influence this. It’s just my own spin on things.

In spite of Emma’s almost tangible relief at Hook’s agreement to stay on longer, the events of the previous night have convinced her that she’s let her infatuation get out of hand. She’s indulged her lonely yearning for companionship too much, and it almost let the darkness take over.

Though she’s glad he’s staying, she needs to keep her distance. Letting herself get even more attached will lead to no good for anyone. In the end she’d only hurt Hook. And hurting him would hurt Henry as well. (And it would hurt her herself, but she’s used to pain by now. It’s Henry and the others she needs to think of.)

Carefully, over the next few days, she pulls back from Killian. She avoids his training sessions with Henry instead of watching them, as she once did. She no longer drops in on his conversations with Thomas or Melinda to join in. And she keeps the talk at dinner sedate and focused on the business of the day—nothing too personal.

The research sessions are more difficult. He truly has been a help, as he knows several old dialects that she never learned. She doesn’t want to turn him away from the task, but sitting for hours in such close proximity to him isn’t easy. She forces herself to keep any talk focused on the books they are studying, and strives to avoid making eye contact.

After several days of her new measures to draw back from him, he speaks up during one of their research sessions.

“Milady?” he asks.

She raises her eyes from her book. “Did you find something interesting?”

“Not as such, no.” He taps his finger on the table, and a knot of frustration stands out between his eyebrows.

“Then what is it?” 

He takes a deep breath. “Have I done something to offend or upset you? If you’d be more comfortable with me gone, I’ll gladly leave—the study, or the whole castle. Whichever you prefer.” He holds her gaze. 

Emma draws a sharp breath and parts her lips as a fresh wave of possessive anger rises from the dark pit of her belly. _Not again—please, not this again._ “I… I don’t want you to leave.”

He frowns and shifts in his chair, raising an eyebrow as he speaks. “So I’m not the one who’s upset you?”

“No—not at all. I’m grateful for your help,” she says, shaking her head. She should have known he’d be bold enough to confront her about her change in behavior. The man has no fear, damn him. But she has enough fear for the both of them.

“Well,” he says, his fingers fidgeting restlessly, “you’re clearly upset about something. Let’s get it out in the open, shall we? We’ll be much more productive if you don’t have this dark cloud hanging over you anymore.”

She squeezes her lips together. Would telling him that _he_ is the source of her dark cloud get him to change his ways? Somehow she doubts it. “I don’t want to talk about it. Nothing’s upset me. These moods just come over me from time to time. Talking about it will only make it worse.”

Hook leans back in his chair, the beginnings of a smirk on his face. Her core buzzes at the sight of his confidence, but her mind still warns her to be careful. “Are you so sure of that, princess? Because it seems to me that you strain and struggle each and every day to keep that darkness inside of you locked up tight. It must be exhausting. Perhaps giving it a bit of room to breathe now and then will actually lower the pressure—make it relax a tad.”

This stuns her. She can only stare. How does he know? How can he tell how she fights to get through every day without giving into the blackness living inside of her?

He shakes his head, and his eyes grow warm and his voice soft. “The people who care about you _do_ notice your struggles, princess, though they try to humor you and pretend they don’t see it. But keeping quiet hasn’t helped you. Maybe speaking up _will._ ” He pauses and leans toward her. “You could at least give it a go. It won’t do any harm to try.”

“Won’t it?” she snaps, and then swallows the lump rising in her throat. He has no idea. He can’t possibly know. “ If I let go—even for a day—if I relax my control and get complacent—it might take control of me. You’ve seen the darkness, first in Rumple and then in me. You know what it can do. What I’d be capable of. I can’t let that happen. Not to the kingdom. Not to Henry.”

He nods slowly. “Perhaps you’re right,” he says softly. She doesn’t think he’s really convinced, but at least he’s backing down. “I apologize. I only spoke because I hate to see you in pain.”

This strikes at her heart, and she has to look away from his earnest gaze. Why does he care for her? Why does he want to help her? He’s supposed to be a ruthless pirate, not a…

She finds herself unable to classify exactly what Killian Jones really is.

Not a true villain, as he claimed when they first met. No villain could be so kind.

She blinks back some rising moisture in her eyes and shakes her head. “Then you must hate the very sight of me, because there’s not a single minute of my life when I’m not in pain.” Except when she’s with Henry. (And, she must grudgingly confess to herself, some of the moments since Hook arrived. What is this man doing to her?)

“Milady—you know that’s not true. Unless you can lie to yourself even when others can’t.”

She won’t look at him, but she feels his gaze boring into her, and his words slap her own melodramatics right back at her. He’s right, of course. She lies to herself all the time. The darkness stirs within her. It enjoys it when she lies.

“We need to finish these books tonight to stay on our schedule,” she says. She needs to end this conversation, before she gives herself away. Before the darkness rises any higher.

He’s silent for a moment. Then, at last, he nods. “As you wish.”

They return to their books for another half hour, and then Emma excuses herself with a few brisk words. The darkness won’t quiet down. It wants her to act.

Letting him stay was a mistake.

Even after she locks herself in her chambers can still feel it rising within her. Can feel the overwhelming urges to take whatever she wants, regardless of the consequences. The urges to punish those who hurt her, and to display her strength and power for all the realm to see—to know that no one can ever touch her again. No one can ever give her another order or demand compliance and secrets and obedience. No one can ever again take away the people who belong to her, as they took Roland and Henry.

No one else will ever use her the way her parents did.

She stares out the window at the dark forest surrounding the castle and feels a giddy laugh rise in her throat.

Hook thinks she should let the darkness out to breathe a little. Perhaps she’ll do just that.

*~*

Killian can’t find sleep. The wind howls and rushes around the castle like a midwinter’s storm at sea, though they are far from the ocean.

He doesn’t know how to help her.

That fact becomes more obvious with every passing day.

There is nothing on earth he wants more than to see Emma happy—to see her free of this curse. But he has no idea how to bring about that end.

When in the five bloody hells had the Dark One’s happiness become the primary objective of his life? Gods, he’s fucked.

He lies on his bed making another feeble attempt at sleep when a pounding sounds at his door.

“Coming,” he calls, and quickly tugs on his trousers before heading for the door.

He opens it to find Thomas, pale-faced and trembling. “We need your help, Hook. It’s Lady Emma. She’s in a state.”

Killian curses under his breath and follows Thomas as he rushes down the hall.

The Dark One can’t fall ill. The Dark One can’t be injured. If Emma is in a state, he knows exactly what’s happening. And, after the conversation he started in the study tonight, he can only blame himself.

“What do you think I can do? I’ve no experience with this,” he says as he follows.

Thomas shakes his head. “I don’t know. She only has bad nights a time or two every month, and they’re never truly that bad. Henry can always calm her, and she’s herself by morning.”

Killian frowns. “So where’s Henry?” If she’s harmed him, she’ll never forgive herself. And Killian will never forgive himself for pushing her. _Please let him be safe._

“We didn’t dare wake him,” says Thomas, leading Killian to the stairs to the battlements. “She’s always told us that if it takes her like this, we’re to grab Henry and run as far and as fast as we can. But he’d never forgive us. And she’s been so much better since you came. We thought maybe you could talk her down.”

Killian has little time to process the full meaning of Thomas’ words before the reach the battlement. Melinda waits at the top of the stairs. Her cheeks are tear-stained, and she wrings her hands in her skirt. “She’s still up there on the tower. I don’t know what to do. Please try and get her down, Killian. Please!”

Even as she speaks Killian’s eyes are riveted on the sight before him. 

At the corner of the two outer walls of the castle a tower rises, overlooking the forest. Emma stands perched on the peak of the sloped tower roof. Thin ribbons of fire leap from her hands to dance and spin on the whipping wind, and he can hear the faint sound of her wild laughter carrying down to them.

Killian swallows. Well. A frightening sight, to be sure, but she doesn’t seem to have done any harm, yet. Perhaps she’s merely following his suggestion to let the darkness loose a bit, to ease the painful tension inside of her. But he can see why Thomas and Melinda are so frightened, after Emma’s more than a year of tightly controlled behavior. 

Still, he can’t help but find the sight of her—her hair streaming in the gusts as the fire swirls and dances above her—mesmerizing. She’s so full of life and power, even with the darkness beating her down from the inside out.

No wonder he loves her.

He nods at the frightened couple beside him. “Go fetch Henry. He has the right to see her—to speak to her. I’ll try to get her off the tower before he comes.”

“Are you sure?” Melinda’s voice wavers.

Killian nods again. “Aye. If I were in his place, I’d want to be with her. Go to him. Don’t be afraid. She’d do anything to protect him.”

They nod, and slowly edge back down the stairs.

Killian strides along the battlement toward the tower. Toward the Dark One. 

He’s not sure when he gave up denying the fact that he’s fallen in love with her. All he knows is that he has. His fate is hers to do with as she pleases—and he’ll have no regrets, regardless of what she does. 

He stops a bit from the tower and cranes his neck up. He cups his hand beside his mouth and shouts, “Milady! Lady Emma!”

She pauses in whatever game she’s been playing with the fire and turns to look down at him. In the light of the two fireballs hovering over her outstretched hands he can see the gray-mottled tone of her skin, and the blackness of her eyes.

She grins at him—an expression both beautiful and terrifying. “You were right! I should have done this ages ago. I can burn the whole forest down around us. It will be so beautiful! And everyone will know what I’m capable of!” A peal of half-mad laughter escapes her lips.

Killian’s chest tightens. What has he done to her? Will she ever forgive him? And Henry… Maybe calling for the boy was a mistake.

He stiffens his spine. No. He caused this mess. Now he needs to clean it up.

“I think Henry might object to that, love,” he calls. “He spends a great deal of time in this forest, and seems rather fond of it.”

Emma wrinkles her nose and closes her hands. The balls of fire vanish with a puff of smoke. “Hell. You’re right again.”

With another puff of smoke she vanishes from the peaked roof and appears directly in front of him on the battlement. Now he can see the glistening sheen of her skin in the moonlight. Her dark eyes look like bottomless black wells, and her bright hair seems to dance with a light of its own. “You’re right so often,” she says. “I’m glad you’ve given yourself into my service. You’re so very useful.”

Though the voice is one he recognize, all her tones and inflections have changed. Gone is the tightly controlled, deeply feeling woman that he’s come to love. In her place stands a wild, willful being capable of any number of selfish acts. Where is Emma? How will he get her back?

“Princess,” he says softly, “Henry’s on his way.”

“Excellent.” She smiles again. “He can help me choose a more suitable forest to burn. Something closer to my parents’ castle. They could do with a fresh burst of fear, I think. I little reminder that I’m still out here.” Another frightening giggle follows her words.

Her parents. She never speaks of them. But now they seem to be the focus of her outburst. Perhaps he hadn’t been entirely wrong to encourage her to indulge this darkness, after all. There’s a pain here that needs to be dealt with. But not until she calms down. “A fine idea, but Henry might be more open to discussing it if you settle down a bit.”

She rolls her eyes at him and folds her arms across her chest. “I thought you were tired of seeing me settled. You’re the one who wanted me to let loose. Why change your mind now? Am I too much for you, pirate? Do I remind you too much of your old enemy?”

She stares at him defiantly. Killian shakes his head and steps toward her. No. Even like this, she is still beautiful—but he begins to see. All the fears, worries, and old festering wounds that she keeps so tightly controlled most days are now on vivid display. 

“You’re nothing like that old crocodile. He was just like a slimy reptile, slithering around and hiding under rocks. You, milady, are like a gem fresh-mined from the earth, shining in the air for the first time. Quite a glorious sight, really.” He cocks his best smile at her. “You may prove too much for me in the end, but I love a challenge.”

Her answering laugh has more of Emma in it, and less madness. Good. He’s relaxing her.

She eyes him up and down. “You’re hardly dressed for a challenge at the moment. Though I must say, I don’t mind the view.”

Killian smirks in return. He’d already taken off most of his clothes for the night when Thomas came for him. Now he wears only his trousers and his shirt—untucked and mostly unbuttoned, as well. Even his feet are bare—as is the arm that usually wields a hook. “A man doesn’t need all his trappings to be dashing. It’s all in his bearing.” He emphasizes the final word to play up the pun.

Emma laughs again, sounding fully like herself again, only more free. _That’s what she needs, more than anything else. Freedom. To speak. To act. Above all, freedom from fear._ If only he knew how to give that freedom to her.

She closes the gap between him and reaches out to grasp his hand. A shiver of excitement runs through him. Then she grasps his stump with her other hand, while her eyes linger on his exposed chest. “I’ve often wondered what it would be like to touch you,” she whispers. A shiver runs down his spine, and he can feel himself start to harden inside his trousers. 

_Damn it, now’s not the time!_

She squeezes his stump and raises her eyes to his. “I could give it back to you. I know how much you must want to touch— _certain things_ —with both hands at once.”

His mind freezes at the sight of her wickedly flirtatious smile, while another part of his body responds with enthusiasm.

He’s freed from his stupor by Henry’s arrival.

“Mom?” the boy’s voice rings out behind him.

The lad startles Emma enough that she releases her grip on Killian, and he takes a few quick steps back. He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. A few more minutes and who knows what foolishness he might have been tempted into. Thank the Gods that Thomas and Melinda got Henry here when they did. As much he longs for an intimate moment with Emma, this isn’t the way.

“Henry.” Her smile is genuine, but Killian does feel a pang of regret at the sight of her usual fear reappearing in her eyes.

Henry steps forward to take his mother’s hands. “Hey—come back to bed with me. I’ll tell you a story, and then we can sleep, okay?”

Emma nods, and her eyes begin to fade to a lighter shade. Killian feels certain they’ll be back to their usual green before long. Good. She’ll come out of this. All will be well.

Emma follows Henry back to the stairs, giving Killian only the briefest of glances in passing—a glance filled with anxiety and guilt.

He sighs. He doesn’t want her to feel guilty. How can he fix this? How can he make things right?

He brushes off the thanks that Thomas and Melinda try to press on him. He doesn’t deserve thanks for this. He needs to think. He needs to find a way to help her that won’t send her spiraling into madness. 

There must be a way.

*~*

Emma feels disoriented and confused when she wakes—as if she’s been ill and suddenly feels completely well again.

She sits up and glances around. Already the afternoon light streams through her windows. How long has she been asleep?

She blinks a few more times, and then begins to replay the evens of the previous night in her mind. Fuck.

She closes her eyes and reaches out with her magic—Henry and Thomas are together. They must be working on Henry’s studies. Melinda is in the kitchen doing some baking. And Hook?

Is in her private study perusing her books.

Damn him.

She storms out of her room, raking her fingers through her tangled hair, and bursts into the study.

Hook glances up from the book with a nonchalant look on his face. “Ah. You’re finally up.”

“That disaster last night was all your fault, you bastard!” She scowls.

It doesn’t matter how pretty his face might be—he had no right to interfere with her life like that. No right. She’s indulged him too long. The time has come for him to leave.

“I beg your pardon, princess,” he says, raising his brows and resting his hand over his heart, “but my parents were married. Scoundrel or rapscallion would be appropriate invectives, but not bastard.”

And just like that, with the sound of his ridiculous reply her anger begins to drain away. How can he do this so easily? She really ought to hate him.

She crosses her arms and forces a frown. “I warned you. I nearly lost control last night.”

Hook nods and carefully sets the book aside before standing. “Aye—and a glorious sight it was, too.”

“There was nothing glorious about it,” she snaps.

“I beg to differ,” he replies, taking a step toward her. “I’ve never seen you so free—so happy. Now we only need to find a way to get you that same freedom and happiness without all the messy pyromaniac impulses.”

He’s doing it again—making light of the situation. Yet somehow it’s working. She’s not really angry at all anymore. Just annoyed by his smug confidence.

“We?” she asks.

He grins and nods. “I do think we made excellent progress last night. We make quite a team, milady.”

She shakes her head, but the memory of his hand in hers as she stared down at his strong, bare chest flashes in her mind. _Not now!_ She chides herself. “What exactly do you consider progress?”

He shrugs. “Well, we got you talking about all those things that bring out that side of you. What I suggest, is that we have a few good conversations about all those things you keep so tightly shoved down inside. Under more controlled circumstances, of course. Feed the beast, so to speak, a bit at a time. I think it’ll do wonders for your constitution.”

She frowns again. “Why should I even dignify your suggestion with my consideration?”

He pauses a moment, and then asks, “How do you feel?”

“I…” How the hell is she supposed to answer that? She feels annoyed. Ashamed. Frustrated. And… It shocks her when she realizes it. As angry as she was at him when she stormed in, the darkness had barely stirred at all. “I… I feel… better. I guess.”

He smirks again. “There, was that so hard?”

Back to his teasing. Ugh. She shakes her head. “Okay. So maybe you have a point. Maybe keeping all this stuff bottled up inside hasn’t been good for me. But I have no idea how have a simple conversation about all the things that set me off without… without stirring it up.” She gestures to her own gut, where the darkness resides.

He nods thoughtfully. “I have a few thoughts on that point. Perhaps we could make a game of it? A truth for a truth. I ask you a question about your life and your troubles that you have to answer truthfully, and then, instead of dwelling on it long enough to get your inner demon all stirred up, you get to ask me a question that _I_ must answer truthfully. It’s your chance to drag all my dark secrets up into the light. What do you say?”

Emma shifts on her feet as she ponders his proposition. Though she still feels ashamed of last night, she can’t deny how refreshed she feels today.

A truth for a truth. Well—learning more about Hook will certainly distract her from the things that normally stir up the darkness.

“Fine,” she says.

His brows shoot up in shock. “Really?”

His surprise brings a smile to her face. So he wasn’t so confident about his plan as he let on. Good. It’s his turn to feel off balance. 

She waves her hand and a bottle of rum and two glasses appear on the table beside them. “Really. But first I need a drink.”

She pours drinks for both of them and hands him his glass. 

He takes it, a wary expression on his face. “Not that I mind your sudden enthusiasm for my plan, but I hardly expected to start it this instant.”

She smiles again. She does enjoy taking him by surprise. “No time like the present. Have your drink, and then we’ll play.”

Sharing her own secrets won’t be easy, but she’s ready to learn more about who Killian Jones really is. A truth for a truth. Yes—this might be exactly what she needs. Gods know what she’s been doing for the past year and a half hasn’t worked. 

Time for something new.

 

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally found time to update! Yay! I published the first 3 chapters before the new season premiered, so this version of the Dark Swan is all my own, and I’m sticking with my original plans for the story. She’s a bit different from canon, but not as different as I expected, so I’m happy about that. And as I’ve been reading back over this story so far it occurs to me that I’ve been writing a sort of Captain Swan version of Skin Deep, which wasn’t really a conscious thing when I started, but hey, works for me. There will be a bit more action later, but this is very much a quiet and domestic kind of story, so if that’s not your thing I’m sure you can find something more to your tastes elsewhere. Thanks for reading.

After the wild display of her power last night Killian had fully expected Emma’s anger toward him, but the sight of her in front him, swirling her glass of rum with a teasing smirk on her face, turns his mind inside out. She looks so much freer than she ever has, save for during her outburst last night. Letting the darkness out to play truly has changed her. But how much?

Only time will tell. Besides, he was the one to propose their little game—swapping a truth for a truth. It would be unfair of him to back out now, no matter how anxious he might feel. So he raises his glass. “To the truth,” he says.

Her smile softens as she clinks her glass to his. “To the truth.”

They down their drinks, and Killian’s heart races at the way Emma’s eyes hold his the entire time. He sets his glass down on the nearest table and gestures to the sofa and armchairs. “Shall we?”

Emma nods and strides to her favorite armchair. Killian seats himself on the end of the sofa nearest her. He’s never felt as uncomfortable in this room as he does at this moment. He doesn’t normally second-guess himself, but today he might. “Aren’t you a bit worried that someone will interrupt us?”

Emma shakes her head. “The only person in this castle who never learned not to enter my sitting room without an invitation is you. We’ll have our privacy.”

Killian coughs lightly. He had noticed that no one else ever seemed to enter the sitting room, but he’d ignored their caution. He counts himself lucky that Emma seemed amused rather than angry. “So, shall I begin, then?”

“Yes. A truth for a truth, until we get tired of playing. You’d better start now, before I come to my senses and change my mind.”

Killian has no intention of letting her change her mind. “How did Roland die?”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Wow. You’re just diving right in, aren’t you?”

He shrugs. “Before you change your mind, just as you said.”

Her eyes flick away from him to a dark corner of the room and she takes a deep breath. “We were alone—just the two of us—on a road through a forest. It was a foggy morning. We didn’t see the robbers until they were right on top of us. Five of them compared to the two of us. Roland managed to kill three of them and drive the other two off. I…” She pauses. “I was never trained to fight. My mother was a fighter and rebel because she had to be, but she wanted better than that for me. She thought she was protecting me.” Her voice grows harsh and bitter. “Roland put himself in harm’s way to protect me, because I didn’t know how to protect myself. And he was wounded—gravely wounded—in the process. I tried to bind his wounds and get him to the nearest village for help, but he was losing so much blood.” She blinks and her voice gets quiet. “When he couldn’t stand any longer I tried magic to heal him, but the fairies never taught me how. Nothing they taught me was any use—all of it was just meant to be pretty and decorative, or meant to help me control my natural power so I couldn’t accidentally hurt someone. Nothing practical. Nothing meaningful. Not until after…” 

Her voice trails off, icy and bitter and filled with regret. Killian won’t trade places with those fairies for the world. If any of them live in the forest, no wonder she wants to burn it down.

She shakes her head. “I tried, but I failed. He died in my arms before I could get him help.”

“I’m sorry.” Killian knows how inadequate those words are, but he can think of nothing else to say.

“So am I,” she replies. She blinks rapidly a few times and then turns to him. “Your turn. Why did Rumplestiltskin kill Milah?”

Killian clenches his jaw. Turnabout is fair play. He started this—he needs to follow through. “I met Rumplestiltskin before he became the Dark One. He was a pathetic coward even then, though without the power to pretend otherwise. Milah was his wife.”

Emma’s eyebrows shoot up and her mouth opens slightly in surprise.

“She was miserable with him,” Killian continues, before Emma can speak. “He refused to do anything to improve their lowly lot in life. She spent every day and night dreaming of escape. And then she met me. We fell in love, and she left him to be with him. I was an arrogant fool. I taunted him. I mocked him for his weakness. He could never forgive either of us—especially not her. And when he had the power to punish her for following her heart, he pulled that heart from her chest and crushed it. She also died in my arms—we have that in common, it seems.” Recounting the old story still hurt, but not as much as he’d expected it to.

He sees an echo of his old pain in Emma’s eyes. “How can you stand to be around me? Doesn’t being here remind you of her death?”

“You’re not him,” Killian retorts, perhaps with more sharpness than necessary. But she needs to understand. Whatever this dark curse is that dwells within her, she’s not responsible for any of its past misdeeds, and he’ll never hold her accountable for them.

She nods slightly but still looks uncertain. He can’t let her dwell on this. Time to lighten things a bit. “Your turn. Why’d you name your boy Henry?”

Now she smiles, and he knows he asked the right question. “I read the name in a book, when I was little. It was the story of a mouse named Henry who went on a great adventure and became a hero, in spite of his tiny size. I always loved that story, and naming him after his father hurt too much. So I called him Henry. My little hero.”

Killian can’t help but grin. Now this is the Emma he’s gotten to know these past months—a woman with a heart so big and so eager that she’s avoided succumbing to the darkness for more than a year and a half. “Have you read the book to Henry?”

“Uh-uh.” She wags her finger at him. “It’s my turn—a truth for a truth, remember?”

“Of course.” He smiles. There’s a new lightness about her. A sense of happiness in her expressions and her voice that he’s never seen before. It’s enough to give him confidence. He’s doing the right thing. This will help her.

“The hand.” Her eyes dart down to his hook. “How’d you lose it?”

He leans back and raises the hook to study its gleaming curve. It’s as much a part of him now as his hand ever was. “That’s a continuation of the story I just finished. The crocodile crushed Milah’s heart, and when I tried to fight him, he took my hand and thought to leave me a heartbroken cripple as my punishment. He underestimated me. But you still beat me to him.” He doesn’t regret her victory over his old nemesis. He’d never have met her, otherwise.

The light in her eyes dims as a trace of her usual anxiety steals back onto her face. Her voice is soft and hesitant when she speaks. “I meant what I said last night. I could give it back to you, if you want me too. Do you?” She looks almost guilty as she holds his gaze—as if she pictures herself as the one who took the hand in the first place.

Killian’s throat feels tight, and he has no ready answer. He’s had the hook for centuries. He hardly remembers what it felt like to have two hands. So he evades. “Sorry, love. My turn.”

She smiles with tight lips and tips her head toward him in acknowledgement. 

He’s not sure how long this game will last and there’s one question burning in his mind, begging for an answer. He decides to ask it now, before he loses the chance. “Why do you hate your parents?”

Her face is unreadable for a moment, and then she stands and heads toward the table where the rum sits. “I need another drink.”

“Struck a chord with this one, did I?” He hopes he isn’t pushing too hard, but her anger toward her parents seems to be at the center of everything she does. If he’s to help her, he needs to know why.

“You have no idea,” she says, pouring her drink and then downing it quickly.

She starts talking while still standing at the table, facing away from him. “It started with Roland. Everything in my life started with him.” Her shoulders sag a little as she speaks. “His father was an outlaw who joined forces with my parents to help them defeat the evil queen Regina. He died in the process, leaving Roland an orphan, so my parents took him in as a foster out of gratitude for his father’s service.” She sighs and finally turns and strides back to her chair. She sits, but doesn’t meet Killian’s eyes, as if lost in her own memories.

“Roland was there my whole life—just a few years older than me. He was my favorite playmate. My best friend. And when I got old enough for my parents to start to worry about it becoming something more, they sent him away as part of one diplomatic party after another. Training, they called it. But I knew better. He was traveling for most of four years. I was sixteen and already entertaining several suitors when they finally let Roland settle down as a member of the palace guard. I think my parents figured that by then our old childhood bonds had been broken, and my suitors would distract me from taking up with him again. They were wrong.”

She stares at a shadow on the wall for so long that he wonders if she’s forgotten that he’s there before she speaks again. “We courted in secret for nearly a year. I was so in love with him. And my parents kept pushing me at the suitors they liked the most and I played along for show, but my heart never wavered.” She looks down at her hands. “Roland wanted to tell them the truth, and ask for my hand. But I was convinced they’d send him away and I’d never see him again. So instead I talked him into running away together.” She smiles and shakes her head, still looking down at her hands. “We had two blissful months together on the road, wandering wherever we wanted. Doing whatever we wanted. And then…”

“The robbers.” Killian fills in the silence.

She nods, and finally looks up to meet his eyes. Her own glisten with unshed tears. “I was pregnant. I found out not long after… I didn’t know what to do. So I went home. I had nowhere else to go.”

He nods, encouraging her. He’d suspected as much. What did her parents do to her and Henry to break her so completely?

“They were disappointed, of course, though they tried to hide it behind sympathy for me,” she says. “They’d had such high hopes for me, and there I was, pregnant and heartbroken with all their plans ruined. They spread the tale around the palace that Roland and I had married in secret before he died. They didn’t like the idea of me bearing a bastard. But I couldn’t stand it. The looks of pity and judgment on all the faces of people who used to respect me. It was too much. I told my parents that I didn’t want to inherit—they could give it all to my brother. I just wanted to go somewhere peaceful and quiet where I could raise my son without all those prying eyes. And they listened. I loved them for it, at the time.”

She sighs and offers Killian a weak smile. “I still love them for it. They sent me to Thomas and Melinda. They’d sheltered my mother when she was a fugitive, and she’d seen to it that they had a fine prosperous farm as a reward when she took back her throne. They’d never been able to have any children of their own. So they took me in with open arms. I was like the daughter they never had, and Henry was like their grandchild. The time I spent with them was happy. I missed Roland constantly. I sometimes missed the life I’d had at court. But they were so kind and so good, and they loved me and Henry without question. It was exactly what I needed. And then, just before Henry’s second birthday, my parents came and begged me to come home.”

Killian raises an eyebrow. Now they’re getting somewhere. These are the answers he’s been looking for.

Emma’s smile fades. “The kingdom was under attack by the dragon sorceress, Maleficent. They’d been trying to hold her off, but they were failing. They needed my magic to defeat her.” She shakes her head again. “What could I do? It was my home—my kingdom. And I still loved them, in spite of everything. So I went with them. But they warned me that Maleficent was already looking for me. The fairies had managed to conceal my location, but Maleficent was determined to find me and Henry, and to destroy us. They told me what I had to do in order to protect Henry and Thomas and Melinda. And I did it.” Fresh tears bead at the corners of her eyes. “Under the direction of the fairies, I cast a memory spell over the entire kingdom. They all forgot that I’d given up my inheritance and left. Instead, they remembered me as a young widow who also lost her child to stillbirth. They remembered that I’d gone to another kingdom to mourn in private. As far as they knew, Henry was dead and I was the heir, returning in triumph to be a hero. Only Thomas, Melinda, Henry and my parents remembered the truth. They even had me cast the spell on my own brother.” Her voice grows rough with emotion. “And with the kingdom under that delusion, I let the fairies guide me through learning how to use my magic to fight, and to protect, and to heal. For three years I fought for my kingdom until we finally defeated Maleficent. Three long years. And I couldn’t see Henry the whole time. It was too dangerous.”

Her eyes darken. Killian hopes this won’t be too much for her. “And then?” he prompts.

“It took all of my magic to defeat her. I was exhausted. I didn’t have it in me to lift the memory spell. My parents told me to rest. To take my time. To enjoy being a hero for a little while. All I wanted was to go back to my son, but they wanted me to stay. To play my part. To, as they said, help heal the kingdom. And I’d gotten so used to doing what they wanted over the past few years that I did as they asked. I stayed. And the question of restoring people’s memories stopped coming up—why would I want to taint their memories of my heroism by exposing my lie? So I visited Henry in secret a few days every month, and cried my way home every time I left him. But I kept leaving him, because they asked me to. They made me believe it was my duty. And another year passed. And another. And another. And it got easier to pretend I was who they wanted me to be. But I still cried every time I left Henry behind. That’s when Rumplestiltskin started visiting me.”

Killian’s eyes go wide. “Why? What did he want of you?”

“He said he wanted to teach me to make the most of my magic. He did his best to poison my heart against my parents—to build my resentment toward them. I rebuffed him. Of course I rebuffed him. But his words worked. I started spending more time with Henry, and the court started asking questions. I decided I was finally ready to undo the memory spell—to let everyone know the truth—but my parents asked me not to. They tried to convince me that things were better as they were. That Henry could grow up to have a normal life, this way.”

He sees the knuckles on her hand grow white as she squeezes the arm of her chair. Her eyes are now as black as he’s ever seen them.

“Emma—you don’t have to—”

“A truth for a truth, remember?” She cuts him off. “This is my truth. My truth is that facing my parents grew harder with every passing day as I realized what they’d done to me. But I felt stuck. Trapped. Afraid to change things. Afraid to disappoint the people who looked up to me. But I was coming closer to falling apart every day. And Rumple knew it. He knew how to break me. He told me the one truth my parents had managed to hide from me for so long. Before I was even born they had a sorcerer perform a ritual to ensure that I would be good. To ensure that I would be a hero. They pulled the dark potential out of me, and forced it into another being. Into Maleficent’s child. And then they banished that child to another world where it could never harm them. That’s why she hated them so much.” A single tear rolls down Emma’s cheek. “They didn’t trust that I’d become a hero on my own, so they used dark magic to ensure it. And then they used that goodness that they’d magicked into me to manipulate me—to use me. They forced me to destroy the very woman they’d wronged when they molded me to be their perfect daughter.

“And even after all that, I was still a disappointment with a bastard child hidden away. I was never good enough—even before I was born.” She wears a bitter smile, and shimmery gray mottles her hands and the edges of her face. “When I confronted them, they admitted the truth. They begged my forgiveness. They swore they’d been trying to atone for their crime ever since. But they were lying. I know it.”

Killian hasn’t pushed her too far, yet, but he knows this can’t go on much longer.

“The worst part,” she whispers, “isn’t that they used me, or manipulated me, or forced me to miss most of Henry’s childhood. The worst part is that I still love them. I hate them more than anything, but I love them at the same time. I can’t stop—no matter how hard I try.”

Another tear slides down her cheek, and her skin resolves into gray across all of her face.

Killian’s heard enough. “Ask me a question.”

She blinks in surprise as he intrudes on her moment of pain. “What?”

“It’s your turn. Ask me a question.”

She continues to blink at him in stunned silence, so he prompts her. “Ask me about my pirating career. My time in Neverland. My life before I became captain of the Jolly Roger. My family. Ask me a question.”

“What was your mother like?” she asks in a half-whisper.

He knows what she’s really asking. _Did your mother love you for yourself, or did she only love her ideal of you, like mine? Was your mother better than mine? Did she hurt you as mine hurt me?_

“My mother died when I five,” he replies. “I don’t remember much. Just that nothing felt better than when she held me. That she kissed me goodnight at bed and kissed me good morning at breakfast. That she sang to me. That I loved her very much.”

“Do you remember any of the songs she sang?” Her tone is wistful. “My mother sang to me, too, but remembering those songs doesn’t bring me any peace anymore.”

“Aye. I remember them.” He ignores the rules of their truth for a truth game. Now isn’t the time. “My father was a sailor, and we lived by the sea, so her songs were full of the sea.”

“Can you sing one for me?”

Her request takes him aback, but it’s a good change from pace from the dark ground they’ve been treading. “That I can.” 

It’s been some time since he’s sung, and he feels his face warming a bit when his voice cracks a few times on the first verse of the old familiar tune. But Emma seems at peace. Almost happy, even. So he sings on.

*~*

Emma doesn’t know where the request for a song came from. She doesn’t know her own mind anymore. But she’s happy she asked as soon as Killian starts to sing.

She’s heard many finer voices perform at court, but his rough, rich voice overflows with truth and emotion, and she finds herself sinking into the sounds of his song.

“ _Said the daughter to the father, 'I'll tell the reason why: You have sent away that sailor-lad That could me satisfy.'_

_“If thats your inclination; The father did reply, 'I wish he may continue there, And on the seas may die!'_

_“She, like an angel weeping, On the rocks sighed every day, Awaiting for her own true love Returning home from sea._ ”

She closes her eyes and lets the melody flow over her. Her mind is filled with a jumble of memories—Roland; her parents; Henry; Rumple; the Darkness. But as Killian sings, all of them recede like the tide pulling back from the shore, and all that’s left is Emma.

It’s been so long since she felt like this.

Killian’s voice rings true and warm on the final verse, “ _'It's not your gold that glittered, Nor yet your silver that shined; For I'm married to the man I love And I'm happy in my mind!'_ ”

Silence settles over the room, and Emma takes a moment to revel in the peace of it before she sighs and opens her eyes.

Killian is watching her. He’s nearly always watching her.

She’s not certain what she’s done to earn his regard, but whatever odd twist of fate sent him to her, she’s grateful that he came.

The Darkness is still inside of her. Every day is still a struggle. 

But now she doesn’t feel like she has to fight this alone.

The thought sends a shiver down her spine, and she doesn’t know what it means or where this will lead. But, at least for today, she’ll let herself be glad he’s here and leave it at that.

She smiles. “Your mother had good taste in songs.”

He smiles in return. “Aye. She did.” He pauses a moment, clearly pondering something. “You’ve had enough of our game for today, I think.”

Emma agrees. The tumult of emotions she’s revisited this past hour are more than enough for one day. “Yes. But… perhaps we can do this again, sometime.”

His eyes shine as he replies, “It would be my pleasure.”

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics are from the English folk song “Our Ship She Lies in Harbour,” found here: http://www.contemplator.com/sea/shiplies.html


End file.
